


Dissimulation

by brutumfulmen



Series: Flourish [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward First Times, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Missing Scene, Misunderstandings, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23206795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutumfulmen/pseuds/brutumfulmen
Summary: Aziraphale viewed lying to be a necessity when done for good reasons based on a set of arbitrary rules he never quite kept up with much anyways.During what should have been a lovely summer solstice with his hereditary not-so-much enemy was perhaps not the best time to see how far that justification could be pushed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Flourish [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741408
Comments: 60
Kudos: 141





	Dissimulation

All Aziraphale had wanted was for Crowley not to leave. He’d tell himself in the years to come that this justification had been sound.

It would help.

Somewhat.

When provided a Good reason Aziraphale certainly felt no guilt over his everyday behaviour. Angels were permitted allowances for such things after all. These little lies or twists of a notion, approved of by Front Office so long as it was for that very Good reason.

And this was indeed a very Good reason, he told himself.

This exact reason usually arose whenever word of a tall, fire-haired man walking the streets of some village caught his ear. Every single time - not that he kept track of course - Aziraphale found a pressing need to provide his angelic services to that area.

Should that place happen to be somewhere as beautiful as Babylonia, well, how could Aziraphale resist the desire to linger and appreciate Her Children’s awe-striking creations? So, he spun a harmless lie about some blessings around the area where Crowley had been found. Done as a hint dropped during their entirely accidental bumping into at the busy marketplace earlier this week and Crowley’s undivided attention was instantly secured. With little more than that, he’d taken it upon himself to ensure Aziraphale remained thwarted the entirety of his visit and has been highly successful.

Today proved no different and Crowley, with his head cradled by folded arms as he rested in the tall grasses of Babylon’s hanging gardens, was none the wiser.

As it should be.

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he popped a split date into his mouth and let the sweet pulp burst across his tongue.

Tamarisk trees filtered midday sunlight upon them both as they relaxed in a miraculously secluded part of the lush gardens. A day of mutual thwarting well spent so far, if their cast aside sandals provided any reliable indication. Spread around them on the heavy covers were different foods that Aziraphale took leisurely bites from. Of the selection, a cloth wrap containing fresh bread was inside the finely made basket, nestled beside small jugs of rose water syrup and olive oil. Aziraphale ignored them for now and instead picked through the various fruits he had acquired during their walk through the gardens, plucking the loveliest pieces off the bountiful trees.

Throughout the trek up here he had pointedly ignored a certain companion’s deepening scowl as each new fruit weighed down the basket tucked into the crook of Crowley’s arm. In addition to this, there was a foisting upon the long-suffering demon’s shoulders numerous blankets Aziraphale had required for their planned outing lest he suffer grass stains on his white robes. Still, Crowley had continued on without a word, ever patient at Aziraphale’s side.

In the privacy of his own mind Aziraphale admitted the plucking of another few pieces occurred only to savour how, despite having little recourse against it, Crowley complained not once about Aziraphale’s particulars. He knew there indeed were many, a rebuke easily made for each ridiculous one, yet none ever came.

Touched seemed to be the emotion threatening to arise in Aziraphale at the memory, swallowing it down by sinking his teeth into a soft, slightly bruised plum. Far down below, past the colourful, low boughing trees and lush flowers, the distant murmur of others going about the garden tickled the edge of his hearing while the lively bubbling waters of the garden’s impressive irrigation flowed around them.

Humans truly were in Her image, Aziraphale thought as he took another bite. Capable of such wondrous creations for him to enjoy. A tad shyly, he risked a glance down at his dozing counterpart.

Especially creations they might enjoy together.

Aziraphale licked the plum’s juice from his thumb before politely clearing his throat.

“My dear, how long do you plan to rest?” It was imperative he knew how best to plan the entirety of his duration in Babylon to ensure maximum consideration for Crowley’s most frequented indulgence.

The demon kept his eyes shut as he hummed in thought, allowing Aziraphale an opportunity to let his own eyes linger upon the sharp lines of Crowley’s face, the jut of his collarbones as dark robes twisted and hung off his long, whipcord strong body. Stretched out like this and lazing under warm dappled sunlight, Aziraphale remembered Crowley back in Eden. Undoubtedly his enormous serpentine body would fill the enclosed space Crowley had miracled together for them in this far different, newer garden.

Aziraphale soaked a piece of bread with olive oil, sighed in pleasure at the rich taste as he chewed.

Gardens, it’s always gardens with Crowley.

“Long as you let me, I suppose,” Crowley grumbled after a series of deep, slow breaths and several more pieces of bread consumed by Aziraphale. That favourite voice rumbled low enough to be felt in Aziraphale’s oddly warm chest much to his fluster.

Today’s summer heat was something, indeed.

“It would be terribly remiss of me to deny you such a lovely napping spot on the longest day of the year,” Aziraphale tried to tease, unable to stop the waver in his words. With a firmness to his will, he claimed the sticky weight of his tongue in his mouth to be the cause, forcing the matter away.

“I am sure we can linger a bit longer.”

At the slight curve of Crowley’s thin mouth a flutter whipped about behind Aziraphale’s left breast, and his fingers bit into the soft grass to ensure he did not reach. Whether to clutch at his far too warm robes, or something, someone else remained unacknowledged. Aziraphale glanced upwards, relieved to see the thick tree branches remained a filtered curtain overhead keeping them from the view of others, physical or otherwise. Ridiculous how he acted sometimes, he chided to himself. As though it were plainly written across his corporeal form, the ways Crowley inspired him to think.

“Don’t be too charitable now, angel,” Crowley’s voice slithered into his paranoid thoughts, a curl of amusement behind the flick of his serpentine tongue. “Chafes my demonic pride.”

Not quite something Aziraphale wanted to hear, so with a huff he tucked his legs underneath him and smoothed his robes down before rummaging through the basket for a drink.

Crowley’s mouth fell into a thoughtful frown.

“Longest day?”

Aziraphale uncorked one of their several wineskins and took a slow sip before replying.

“Indeed,” he licked a stray droplet from his lips. Crowley truly had impeccable taste when it came to wine. “Reason why the gardens are rather quiet today. Most of the kingdom is out setting up for the solstice celebrations.”

A grunt of acknowledgement as Crowley rolled onto his side towards Aziraphale who fought to calm his pounding heart and not drop the wineskin all over himself. So close Crowley now lay, long arms folded to pillow his sharp cheek, his tumbled auburn hair glint under the sunlight as the treeline danced around them upon gentle breezes.

How Crowley made his breath catch still, even so far flung from that first meeting in Eden.

“Might head out sooner than expected.” Crowley gave a wide, snake-fanged yawn, dark lashes fluttering as his eyes darted behind their lids. With a series of loud clicks he pushed himself up and made to stand, much to the unbecoming distress that threatened to burst from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Have to meet up with some folks before the day is done with. Important demon business.”

“But,” Aziraphale worried his lip, hands clasped in front of his chest. “You only just arrived and, and my time for blessings here in Babylon is not quite finished. Surely you can stay a bit longer?”

 _So many empty years have passed since I last saw you. Could we perhaps go to the celebrations together? I have always wanted to watch the stars with you,_ Aziraphale nearly added, yet the plea-wrought suggestion tangled itself between mind and throat, unable to reach the garden’s perfumed air.

That was far too close to the truth when these little lies were enough.

Aziraphale forced himself to keep his eyes fixed up at Crowley’s form silhouetted by the light pooling down around them, a long shadow cut down the centre of his vision.

“All right,” came the unexpectedly quiet response.

Crowley ran a hand through his long hair as he dropped down atop the blankets and soft grass, falling onto his back so as to stretch out once more.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Aziraphale watched Crowley bring an arm behind his head and tilt his chin up. Those dark slices for pupils looked towards the canopy of branches, sunlight illuminating his thoughtful face.

“Sure thing, angel.”

Although Crowley agreed to stay, his mood declined and took with it the peaceful, luxurious atmosphere he’d turned the garden into. Not an offered fruit nor piece of bread lured the demon from his darkening mood, and, try as Aziraphale might, none of their usual conversations pulled Crowley back to him.

This was, to Aziraphale’s increasing dismay, proving far different a time together than his lie should have provided.

Eventually, as the midday sun burned high above and failed to provide any comfort, Aziraphale reached his breaking point. Glancing over to Crowley, as he yanked the leather tie off of his second wineskin in as many hours, Aziraphale set down his half-eaten fig and clasped his hands together.

“My dear, are you well?”

Crowley brought the wineskin to his mouth as it sloshed loudly in his tense, clawed hand.

“Perfect,” Crowley hissed before swallowing another pull of wine down, the harsh movement of his long throat enough to drop Aziraphale’s gaze, guilty. “What were you saying, angel?”

He blinked to suppress his offence. “I had finished talking about the most recent Babylonian temple twenty minutes ago, to which you’d replied, even.”

A scowl twisted Crowley’s face as he shoved his hair away from his damp forehead. “Right. ‘Course. Sorry then. What’re you wanting to talk about now?”

“I’m asking you what is wrong,” Aziraphale insisted as his face scrunched with annoyance. “You’re not behaving like yourself.”

“Nothing important angel,” Crowley’s voice held a tremor Aziraphale found alarming enough to calm his impatience. “You wanted me to stay, here I am.”

There was a threat of those words, whether intended or not, to hurt Aziraphale. He’d believed, foolishly it now seemed, that Crowley might have stayed due to also enjoying Aziraphale’s company.

“Well. Whatever it is, Crowley, I can handle it,” said Aziraphale in a steadier voice than he felt, damp fingers curling into the blankets to keep from reaching out towards his companion.

 _I’m sorry, did I ask too much of you this time? If it’s me I will fix it,_ his plea clawed up his throat until he swallowed the words with the rest of his half-eaten fig. As it went down he tasted nothing.

“It’s the summer solstice,” Crowley ground out after so long a silence Aziraphale worried he might need to repeat himself - and then he truly would be fussing. “Means quota time for demons and I’m short for this year. Hell knows. They’re knocking hard on the back of my head for me to go back down there and give them an answer.”

That was a lot of information all at once for Aziraphale to absorb, who stared at Crowley’s tense expression and clenched jaw. He took a slow breath to process the words now catching up with him. Crowley going back to Hell, that was impossible to consider right now.

After everything he’d done to get this day together with him. Absolutely not.

“What kind did they ask of you?”

“Same as every year,” Crowley replied, sucking down more wine. He refused to look at Aziraphale.

“Care to specify?” Aziraphale demanded, not in the mood for Crowley’s usual difficulty.

Crowley slid his focus over, a brow raised high and Aziraphale’s heart pounded at the implication behind that pointed look. Aziraphale wrung his hands, eyes cast about as if a solution to the situation sat there with them.

“Surely it is nothing so…” Apparently it was. Crowley let out a sharp laugh.

“Typical angel. You don’t get it,” Crowley hissed, eyes narrowed into full bleeds of gold. “Demons are ruled by Earth and the powers of the air. Urges and—” His words faltered, eyes darted across Aziraphale then off into the gardens. Furrow lines twisted his face as if under great duress, and Aziraphale’s heart twinge in concern.

This was not as simple as Crowley was pretending, was it.

“When we fall short on temptations we forge them.” Crowley continued after a ragged breath, back of his hand brought to his forehead where his sleeve smeared with sweat. “Other demons help us.”

“Demons help one another?” Aziraphale gawked.

“Probably not the right word,” Crowley conceded with a grimace. “We’re all in the same boat. There’s incentive to assist.”

A tension coiled between them as Aziraphale stared at the sheen of sweat reflecting off Crowley’s face and neck.

“How will, how does it happen?”

“Usually all of us that fail to reach quota meet up somewhere. For this kind we’ll have a go at it and then if anyone needs more we step in until quota’s met.” Crowley rushed out, a hint of colour smeared across his face, however, Aziraphale saw it was not from the heat of Babylon’s summer but rather what he assumed to be arousal. Crowley _liked_ thinking about what he got up to with the other demons, with the humans he failed to tempt this year. For all his complaints about the - requirement, Aziraphale knew no other word for it - he enjoyed the carnal activity.

Granite filled his stomach, his heart a piece of limestone wrought under a reckless hammer wielded held by his own foolish hand.

Curiosity kills indeed.

“Are there any around? Demons, I mean. For, for that?” Aziraphale asked carefully, determined to flee the gardens and find a place to soak his sorrows should the answer be affirmative and Crowley decided to abandon him.

Crowley tilted his chin into the air as a long serpentine tongue flicked out. Now that was something, wasn’t it?

“Unfortunately not. And I’m probably late to the meetup anyways,” Crowley said, concern in his voice. A flash of guilt marred Aziraphale’s immediate relief. His friend suffered a terrible affliction, there was no room for ill-begotten jealousy on top of the matter.

Not that Aziraphale considered his emotional state to be one of jealousy, of course. Angels cared for all living creatures, whether from above or below.

Even if Crowley was the primary creature on which Aziraphale spent his time and thoughts and and—

It was rather his fault, he conceded. His own selfish desire for Crowley’s company during this time of year now placed Crowley in a tight, even dangerous situation. Without another demon around or however many are required to fill this quota, the heavy flush on Crowley's face, the drench of sweat soaking through his robes would only worsen. It hurt to consider what Hell might do to him once they found out.

His nurturing of so un-angelic a fixation on his hereditary enemy has finally come to bear sour fruit. Yet, he did not want any reminder of their respective sides here in this little haven, he did not want to see Crowley leave him behind. Not today, after knowing the truth and despising its existence.

Besides, it’s only Crowley.

What was the worst that could happen?

“Listen, angel,” Crowley’s voice cut through his inner struggle as he went to his knees and tried to stand. “Been fun, but I need to see if I can still make it there in time. I have to leave. Now.”

Crowley looked about to bolt, his grip on the wineskin a stranglehold and Aziraphale thought fast. Aziraphale brought a hand out and clutched the rough fabric of Crowley’s dark robes, immediately freezing the other in place.

“How about if - if I assist you?”

Crowley, who at that moment decided to take one last drink, sprayed wine everywhere. Aziraphale sniffed delicately at the sight.

“Angel,” Crowley rasped, wiping his mouth as the flush on his face reached fever pitch. “This isn’t fruit picking or some ziggurat’s diagram to read. Besides, have you even done this before?”

The quickest lie of his existence shot out Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Of course I have,” Aziraphale snapped. _Not_ remained an unspoken part of the statement, deliberately omitted for reasons Aziraphale did not wish to elaborate on.

Even with the corners of his lips stained red from wine Crowley somehow managed to conjure the most fearsome scowl Aziraphale ever beheld. Around them gardens seemed to darken, and he shivered at the narrowed glare Crowley levelled at him.

“With who?”

Aziraphale nearly panicked and said ‘you’, but that was not accurate as it only ever happened in one extremely vague dream several centuries ago, after which he swore off the notion of ever again resting his eyes. Nonetheless, it was the closest he had to anything physical with anyone. Especially given there was only one other being his fingers have ever twitched in curiosity at entwining with.

“Ah, just a few humans throughout the years.”

“Humans,” Crowley gritted out. The edges of his white robes looked interesting all of a sudden, and Aziraphale plucked a loose blade of grass from them.

“Yes. They can be quite…” Aziraphale thought of thin lips as they formed the most interesting opinions about good and evil, thereupon that high wall. He would have listened for hours had the rain not arrived, a sign if there was such.

“Persuasive.”

Crowley drank deeply and said nothing. As if with great reluctance the light returned to the gardens, flickering warm even though Aziraphale felt chilled all over.

“Creative, aren’t they?”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale glanced over and winced at the unusual gleam in Crowley’s eye. With a flustered apology he relinquished his grip on Crowley’s robe as the demon settled beside him.

“They’re creative. With sex. The positions and,” Crowley’s eyelashes fluttered as his voice dropped, carrying a hiss that stirred something deep in Aziraphale.

“It’s not like Adam and Eve, anymore.”

Now that Crowley saw him as someone to relate to with this, the demon’s attitude has clearly shifted in a way Aziraphale did not fully understand. A wide, too-sharp smile stretched across his handsome face, waiting for Aziraphale to reply.

“Hm, yes indeed.” In terms of art and music and good food, Aziraphale agreed humans to be incredibly creative. It was, in fact, a part of their inherent divinity and superiority over the angelic host which served them.

“Other day at the marketplace some human turned to me and—”

He wanted to exchange _stories_ of all things. Aziraphale would discorporate before he let that sentence finish, his lie already in danger of exposure and unable to determine why that would be so terrible.

“May we return to the rather pressing topic at hand?” Quickly he smothered the flush on his face with another date plucked from the basket, its sweetness thick as he swallowed, felt all the way down his throat.

“Aziraphale.”

“I’m serious Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying to recall what he knew about such matters. Not a whole lot outside of Adam and Eve, unfortunately. “There’s nothing to it.”

He assumed. Hoped.

“Nothing to it? How do you know this won’t cause even more problems?” Crowley snarled, gold eyes narrowed at Aziraphale who fought off the urge to falter.

“I quite certainly have not had any problems before!” Aziraphale snapped back in a tone more confident than he felt. “And I rather think you not getting in trouble with your Front Office is a more important consideration, don’t you?”

Crowley said nothing, eyes downcast. His silence bore a hollow ache of worry in Aziraphale’s chest for his companion. His.

Well.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale let a hand fall on Crowley’s covered leg, the hard muscles tense as he refrained from letting his fingers curl and catch. “You said you all forge the temptations right? It doesn’t have to be a real one? Then if, if it’s just a number they need let me help you. Please.”

“You sure?” Crowley’s hand came to rest atop his, the fine calluses on his fingertips catching as they stroked Aziraphale’s own scholar soft ones. Another way they differed, that list expanding every moment they sat here and Aziraphale did not push them through this. “You’re really sure?”

“Absolutely,” he lied through his smile. “Besides, how often do you get an angel willing to assist a demon?”

To Aziraphale’s surprise Crowley did not smile back, his focus on their hands as his face continued to flush with demonic pressure, as the warm air of the garden weighed damp with humidity. Before Aziraphale’s doubts threatened to strangle him with the fear Crowley would still leave, Crowley gave a deep sigh, and shrugged.

“Fine, but don’t think I’m thanking you.” Aziraphale caught himself before he collapsed in relief with a soft chuckle and reluctantly slipped his hand out from under Crowley’s own large one. What a welcome weight it had been, maybe afterwards during the solstice show he’ll be allowed to experience it again.

“I’m certain you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” This wasn’t so tough, Aziraphale commended himself as Crowley gave him a sharp, crooked grin.

“Anything you want,” Crowley said as he shifted closer to Aziraphale, taller even sitting across from one another. One of those sharp hands crossed the expanse to rest near Aziraphale’s again, a fingertip touched to the very edge of Aziraphale’s thumb.

Then, Crowley leaned forward. Aziraphale blushed, dipping his chin at the sudden proximity.

“What are you doing?”

For the first time today Crowley blinked. 

“I thought.” He glanced off to the side, and something had hardened in his expression when it returned to Aziraphale. “Never mind.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, rather confused. A thin, large hand then settled on Aziraphale’s covered hip, dangerously close to—

“Ah.” Aziraphale flushed as he tensed. From one uncertainty to the other it seems.

“Can I touch you at all?” Crowley asked, a touch of impatience that belied the intensifying tremors wracking his body. It was getting worse, Aziraphale berated himself. This was not about his self-consciousness or whatever Crowley was wanting to do, he simply needed to get Crowley moving.

“I prefer taking care of all that myself, let’s just—”

“What?” Crowley moved closer, arms caging him as he loomed over Aziraphale, cutting a shadow where the sun illuminated around his frame. “Whatever it is I’ll do it.”

“Just…” Aziraphale swallowed, taken by the sight above him and Crowley’s words. In quick, stilted motions he nudged Crowley away and rolled onto his hands and knees, the blankets a safer object of his uncontrollably weak expression.

A quiet, barely audible sound Aziraphale could not interpret came from Crowley.

“Hm? Yes dear?”

“Like this,” Crowley’s fingers brushed the hem of Aziraphale’s white robes, touched along the delicate skin of an exposed ankle. Aziraphale twitched at the gentle caress, before he remembered Crowley was speaking.

“Why like this?”

“Well,” his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as Crowley’s fingertips traced small circles higher up his leg.

Because Aziraphale knew only one position and it was from some explicit artwork he found in a book that he hastily shelved and never looked at again. Because he wasn’t sure if he could withstand Crowley’s disappointment when faced with every flaw and curve comprising Aziraphale’s less than appealing form.

“This is how I partake in such things,” he hoped his voice sounded steady, convincing, “do you not?”

Silence, save for the rustle of a breeze through the garden, then Crowley took the hem of Aziraphale’s robe in hand.

“Sure, angel.”

Eyes locked downwards on the blankets bunching under his fingers, Aziraphale winced when Crowley’s hands began to slide the thick fabric of his robes over his calves. Lifting his knees a bit, he grit his teeth to prevent them from chattering as Crowley pushed the fabric up to let the cool air tickle the delicate skin of his thighs.

Why was his jaw trembling, his chest so tight? It was a beautiful day and he was the warmest he’s ever been.

“Let me know if you don’t like something.” Crowley sounded terribly close to Aziraphale. His hands bunched the blankets underneath. This was fine. It was.

“Certainly,” Aziraphale said, knowing he would do no such thing.

Cool fingertips traced the column of his spine to his overheated skin’s delight, as the delicate touch sent the hairs on his body standing. A breath puffed out somewhere between his shoulder blades, then another hand smoothed along an already damp, heavy side of Aziraphale’s body. He bit his lip as Crowley hiked his white robes higher up before both hands with their calloused thumbs settled to pull his buttocks apart, exposing him to the air.

Then, nothing.

Was Crowley just - looking at him? The thought made his stomach twist with doubt and a heavy, sick feeling that haunted him far more frequently than he cared to admit. Before Crowley said something terribly crushing or his courage failed Aziraphale opened his mouth to see what the holdup was.

“What are you oh—!”

Wet, long stripes flicked along Aziraphale and sent a shudder powerful enough to sway his entire body. There was not even enough time to process what could only be Crowley’s tongue as it licked him once more, swirling and flicking over a place he never thought sensitive.

Heavens.

Aziraphale heaved a gasp, thighs trembled under Crowley’s firm grip as tendrils of heat surged through him. The careful attention of Crowley's mouth bordered on _exquisite_ as that slickness began to press inside. Twisting its way somewhere Aziraphale never knew capable of sensations, especially ones so intense.

A full body shudder wracked through him, his mind went blank, then overflowed.

Too much, too much he couldn’t take it—

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale flinched as a hot bolt of pleasure struck when that tongue curled, arching his back. A dribble of clear fluid pulsed onto the covers between his knees and he jerked away from Crowley, knocking the basket over as fruit spilled across the blankets into the grass. Immediately Crowley grunted in surprise, the wet slide of his tongue retreating from Aziraphale’s body and he groaned at the sudden loss. Aziraphale turned and oh, how wrecked Crowley looked with his wide blown eyes and tumbled auburn hair, hands still on Aziraphale’s hips as he worked that sharp jaw. Something quivered in his chest as Crowley’s serpentine tongue hung past shiny, wet lips.

That had just been _inside_ him. Aziraphale trembled.

“You don't like it?” Crowley asked over a quiet hiss.

 _Tell him,_ an urgent, overwhelming part of Aziraphale whispered as he shook through the sensations rippling through his body, caught within the intensity of Crowley’s gaze. _Just admit you lied and this is all so new to you and you need him to go slower._

That it means so much more coming from him.

“No I—” Crowley moved away, eyes wide until Aziraphale reached for him, nearly falling over as he balanced on one hand. “I mean I do! Like it.”

Goodness, his blush burned hot enough to permanently sear his skin. How does anyone deal with this on the regular without dying of embarrassment? Aziraphale glanced away, deciding, then back to Crowley.

“Never experienced that before.” An uncharacteristic softness flickered across Crowley’s face, surely wrought of pity, so he hurried on. “The humans, that is. Prefer the main, ah, event.”

That sounded acceptable to his ears.

“Right,” is all Crowley rasped, a long hand rubbing circles just where the white robes concealed the juncture of Aziraphale’s thighs from view. Crowley did not blink as he lifted the fabric once more to reveal Aziraphale to him, neither disappointed nor pleased by what he saw. Aziraphale was certain his face was incapable of reddening any further from a shyness he could not deny, along with a surprising amount of guilt.

Hasn't he always done this, though? Given just enough to not risk Crowley peeking behind the curtain and seeing the wreck of an angel he wastes so much time with. The parts of himself that if ever revealed could cost far more than his innocence today.

Crowley hovered, hands resting upon Aziraphale as one might touch an altar, not that demons worshipped Aziraphale corrected. But he did not move, even with Aziraphale at his disposal.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Aziraphale said before he could stop himself, unable to contain this foundational truth. Crowley sighed, eyes fluttering shut as long hands stroked the damp give of Aziraphale’s waist, the fullness of his thighs.

“Same, angel.”

Crowley cleared his throat as the awkward silence lingered. “Can I continue? Or…”

“I’d rather we move things along, actually,” he rushed, a tad uncomfortable with asking. Crowley only nodded, then gathered his dark robes and lifted them past his strong thighs and narrow hips.

Aziraphale bit back a noise of distress.

That looked a lot bigger than he thought it was supposed to be, considering _where_ it was going. Aziraphale felt the back of his head burn. Crowley brought a hand down to grip the long, obscene curve of himself much to the sudden dryness in Aziraphale’s throat.

“Any complaints?” 

Aziraphale shook away the sensation, eyes darting between Crowley’s hand as it worked along his impressive cock and those gold eyes waiting for an answer.

He was making an absolute fool of himself right now.

“Of course not, my dear,” he said past a thin smile. With a swallow of his nerves, Aziraphale settled once more in position, and felt Crowley shift closer to spread him open. A finger, slick with - something, then ran along the curve of one of Aziraphale’s buttocks.

“What—” Aziraphale cut himself off before asking yet another question but Crowley grunted and he knew he was caught.

“Oil, angel,” Crowley said flatly, then seemed to reconsider. “Unless you’d prefer using something else.”

“No, no, oil works,” he tried to sound confident and braced himself as the clink of jars from the basket tickled his ear, then the pop of a cork and mild herbs filled his senses. Immediately Aziraphale wanted to complain about how messy this was and that perhaps Crowley might be more considerate as he dribbled oil all over Aziraphale’s buttocks to drip uncomfortably down his balls and thighs, no doubt staining the edges of his robe. But he was stumbling blind here, and if oil was what Crowley believed they should use then he’d have to just go with it.

Then there was a long, wet finger pressed up against where Aziraphale never expected anything to be, and he blushed as it began to push past the tight rim.

_Oh fu—_

The punch of breath out of his chest came entirely unwilling. Aziraphale gripped the blankets tight knowing what was coming as Crowley pulled the finger halfway out, then pushed it back in.

“Okay so far?”

Not really, Aziraphale wanted to say, but he nodded and so it continued for a while as Crowley stretched him. Another pour of oil splashed where Crowley’s finger was, joined by a second finger and they worked right in before Aziraphale knew what happened. A low noise came from behind Aziraphale, somewhere between a hiss and a groan. The second finger fought the tight resistance Aziraphale’s body was desperate to maintain, until they spread, forcing Aziraphale to breathe through the burn. He could lie through many things but pain was not one of them, ready to ask Crowley what was going wrong.

Aziraphale stopped just as he opened his mouth.

Crowley expected him to know everything about this already, to have experience with the mess, the discomfort that probably did not even occur for others. How many lie about their first time, after all. A cold tide of loneliness washed over Aziraphale before he forced it down, and he rapidly blinked his suddenly hot eyes.

“Aziraphale?” His silence had not gone unnoticed with how Crowley’s voice bordered on concern, the two fingers inside of Aziraphale having stilled. That would not do, Crowley having second thoughts. Aziraphale had to rein it in and get Crowley through this before the summer solstice was up.

“Ah, yes I’m fine. That’s,” Aziraphale sighed, hands restless as they twisted the blankets, sweat dripping down his face. Those long fingers stubbornly remained unmoving, even as the calloused fingertips pressed along a supple wall. Which felt not bad, but not good either.

“That’s…?”

“Just a bit much,” he admitted on a sigh, dropping his head. More that it felt as though Crowley were trying to scratch his insides out, prodding with some unknown goal.

“Been a while?” Crowley offered, but Aziraphale heard a slight edge to the question, most likely born of annoyance. At this rate the demon will abandon this effort before they even get to the main ordeal, giving up in disgust with Aziraphale’s continuous incompetence if he fails to get a hold of himself.

Did demons care about the quality of their forgeries? If so Crowley was going to be in complete trouble.

“You might say that,” Aziraphale replied a tad breathlessly, toes curling into the blankets as he spread his knees more. Based on the soft curse Crowley gave, that was a smart move. Crowley’s overly slick fingers slid out, taking Aziraphale’s breath with them, then a careful press of three and his entire body tensed up. The relentless, burning stretch forced a muffled groan from his near bitten-through lip, arms threatening to buckle from underneath him as Crowley’s intrusion continued.

“Does it feel good?” Crowley asked, his other hand stroking a slow line along Aziraphale’s sweat slick hip in what he found straddled soothing and nerve-wracking. It was clear Crowley hung on by a thread, if the sweat droplets splattering on Aziraphale’s arched back and the rapid breaths he took in could be a reliable metric.

Never before has Aziraphale considered the term good to be relative. God was good, angels were good, most wines and foods were good.

This was…

If he told the truth, it was quite uncomfortable and stung a lot as Crowley’s prodding yielded more strangeness than what he assumed should be pleasure. It was also unlike anything he has ever experienced, which might be good.

Maybe.

“How’s this?” Crowley roughly asked as he slid his fingers out, then pressed a _fourth_ past the slick, stretched rim and Aziraphale grunted as his body yielded once again to Crowley.

Knowing Crowley was at least aroused by what he did to Aziraphale made every awkward moment worth it. Even if it was not particularly enjoyable on Aziraphale’s - er - end of things. Something about Crowley’s rasping breaths affected Aziraphale against his better judgment if how his resistance didn’t immediately kick in. The slight eagerness of his touch despite the careful pressure, all while no doubt staring intensely at where his fingers sunk repeatedly into Aziraphale’s body, which caused a blush all on its own. Demons and their lasciviousness, did it have no bounds.

“Excellent dear,” he panted as Crowley’s fingers twisted then spread and his body clenched hotly in response. Now _that_ was interesting, the urgent way his soft cock twitched between his thighs, dripping profusely onto the blankets.

“I think,” his tongue was sticky dry under the sharp breath he pulled in when those long fingers curved and pushed. “We can move on now.”

All too soon Crowley’s fingers slipped free to trace where Aziraphale knew he was red and gaping to his absolute embarrassment. More of the herbed oil then dripped down Aziraphale’s thighs - a relief as he’d forgotten they might need more of it - to which he made a noise of complaint Crowley apologised for inducing. The wet sound of Crowley slicking himself up sent heat blotching across Aziraphale’s chest.

Now or never, it seemed.

Crowley’s cock settled between his buttocks, a heavy, hard weight. Aziraphale winced as Crowley shifted closer, his knees knocking against the insides of Aziraphale’s own to spread them a little wider to make more room for Crowley’s strong body. It all felt terribly awkward.

“Breathe, angel,” Crowley whispered right at Aziraphale’s ear. Surely, surely it was only his imagination the way ‘angel’ trembled on Crowley’s tongue.

The blunt pressure of Crowley’s cock caught the slippery rim of his body, then pushed, and Aziraphale’s face burned when he tensed up at the contact as he forced himself not to recoil. Not that he could move with the iron grip Crowley had on his hips and the excellent job he’d done at ensuring Aziraphale’s instinctive resistance would not hold. There was a pause, then after another shift he pressed in sending every nerve in Aziraphale’s body roaring with protest. Honestly it felt as though Crowley was prying him open like a—

Aziraphale was not about to turn this any more vulgar than it already was, alone the burning overstretch enough to make him gasp for air as his body curved from pain. Heavens. Another push forward. _Heavens._

“Are you _—_?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” he squeezed from his throat, eyes prickling. _Ow this hurts._

Perhaps he should have spoken up and requested they try four fingers a little longer, but Aziraphale already decided Crowley was going in so he bore down. A shaky breath and he once more smothered his discomfort, hands gripping at the blankets until his knuckles went stark white.

“Keep going please.”

Crowley’s hands roamed feverishly, petted along Aziraphale’s wide hips and belly in some mindless pattern that has taken hold of the demon. Whatever ease those well-practiced fingers had provided, his cock easily burned away despite the loud squelch of fluid dripping all over the place. These blankets are never going to be clean again Aziraphale managed to think during the brief respite, then Crowley sunk deeper with a noise sounding though it was punched from his chest. Aziraphale groaned low, body constricting tight on the unyielding cock Crowley slowly buried inside of him, all attempts to find pleasure or at least some relief in vain. After what felt like hours, Crowley’s sharp hips met the backs of Aziraphale’s trembling thighs and they both sighed, undoubtedly for different reasons.

“You’re so tight.” Aziraphale blushed. Does he say thank you?

“Relax, you’ve got to relax,” Crowley grunted, long fingers twitched as they caught the padding around Aziraphale’s hips. With each unsteady push the long, thick line of Crowley throbbed, an invasion unlike anything ever before.

“I know,” he grit out, then softened his ire at the careful rub of Crowley’s hand down his damp, flushed skin as if to soothe.

There must be something wrong with him for it to be so uncomfortable, to feel so vulnerable. He did not even need to breathe so why was he struggling to get enough air?

“I am trying. You, you are quite—” Crowley shifted his own weight, jostling Aziraphale’s sensitive, overstretched insides and tore another gasp from his rattled lungs. Distantly he heard a hiss from the demon as his long body folded over Aziraphale, known only by how the sunlight’s warmth on his back faded. One hand came to dig into the blankets just next to one of Aziraphale’s. He watched as if from a great distance the slow way Crowley’s thumb stroked the top of his hand, gentle in contrast to the unwieldy girth his body was forced to accommodate.

There came a touch between his shoulder blades when he shuddered out another sigh, so soft he never imagined Crowley capable. Calloused fingers smoothed down the bunched muscles in his slippery back as he shook.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Aziraphale winced and cleared his throat, eyes still on Crowley’s thumb touched to his hand. If they stopped Crowley would inevitably leave to do this with someone else and Aziraphale would sit here like the failure everyone in Heaven already viewed him as. “Ah, no, we can keep going.”

A pause levelled the garden’s air. Aziraphale’s rasping breaths were all to be heard for a long, agonised moment.

“Turn over, at least? You,” his ears must have failed as Crowley’s never stumbled over his words before. “You can rest like that. I’ll take care of everything.”

Aziraphale shuddered at Crowley’s suggestion, unsure how a position change might help this when every throb of Crowley’s cock made him cringe. His thighs and arms and, well, his arse too, burned with more than enough stress already as he willed his entire corporeal form to unclench long enough to let this happen. The long, thin hand between his shoulder blades slid around front and palmed at his soft chest. Stroked a slow, idle pattern over where Aziraphale’s heart bruised hard against his rib-cage to set it pounding with hope.

Forget a sense of failure. Crowley’s sharp snake eyes darting over his overwrought expression, his true feelings fully exposed as they lay together would be what ended him.

Another shudder, then Aziraphale shook his head.

“Angel—”

“I’m quite certain, Crowley!” He snapped, half delirious and too far in his own head to process the noise forced out of Crowley. How easy it was, lying to Crowley, and by extension himself. The implications tickled something in the back of his head he did not like. Could he really be blamed, though? Even at his best Aziraphale constantly relied on Crowley’s unshakable confidence to carry them both into the next day, year, century. Here, with this onslaught of uncertainty Crowley hoisted upon him _now_ of all times as Aziraphale was bent over, split open and rather frightened, has become too much to endure.

“Let me know when you’re ready, then,” Crowley quietly responded, hands twitching as if they desperately wanted to pull Aziraphale towards him. The demon really was trying, Aziraphale realised with an aching fondness. It was not his fault Aziraphale’s never done this and decided to pretend otherwise, leaving Crowley to find their way with a blank map and Aziraphale acting as if every turn was wrong.

“Just a minute, please,” he tried, chest loosening at hearing a sigh from Crowley.

“Anything you need,” came the surprisingly earnest reply.

During a rare moment his body was not actively fighting Crowley’s invasion, Aziraphale raised his head just enough to look around the garden, and in an even rarer fit of bravery he glanced behind him to where the blurred silhouette of Crowley remained faithfully still. It was obvious Crowley was looking right at him, even with his slow, idle caresses along Aziraphale’s damp skin. Aziraphale ducked his face back to stare at the blankets, trying to expand lungs that refused to work around the nervous beat of his heart. A hand left his hip to stroke down one of his arms, which had begun to shake from the effort of holding this position.

Aziraphale cringed, humans manage this for hours and he’s struggling within the first couple minutes? Unbelievable. Face burning, he tried again to force his body to ease up around Crowley’s cock, unsure how considering he’d never needed control over that part of himself before.

Whether or not it worked, he’s going forward with this.

“All right,” he lied. Behind him Crowley’s harsh breathing picked back up, no doubt having been wrestled down this whole time for Aziraphale’s sake. Crowley’s cock throbbed, eager to continue on at Aziraphale’s permission, he assumed with a flush. Meanwhile his own has not responded since Crowley’s tongue did that strange slither inside him.

“You sure?”

No, but his arse was not cooperating any more than this, Aziraphale wanted to say in not any combination of polite words. Rolling his shoulders he adjusted into a less stiff position only to wince at the awkward nudge of Crowley’s cock stretching him to a near painful limit. “Positive,” Aziraphale gasped out as Crowley’s cock slid a bit deeper, then began to pull out leaving an emptiness that almost felt worse than the place Crowley had carved within his body. Soon enough Crowley was working a steady, uncomfortable rhythm that Aziraphale resigned himself to enduring.

It wasn’t, Aziraphale sucked in a breath at another slow, throbbing push of Crowley’s cock, sex wasn’t as bad as he worried it might be, though. Manageable, even. On Crowley’s next thrust he tentatively pressed back. That seemed like the sort of thing to do and Crowley’s hips jammed forward to meet him with a sharp jostle of his insides.

Aziraphale grimaced through it until his expression slipped into confused slackness as Crowley’s next thrust instead lit a bloom of fire somewhere in his belly.

That wasn’t too bad.

“Fuck,” Crowley held himself deep in place as he groaned loudly, a noise sent straight to Aziraphale’s cock which was apparently now halfway to an erection from sheer stubbornness alone.

“You, you’re incredible.” Aziraphale’s chin dipped to his chest so as to hide how flushed his face became at the compliment. Not that Crowley could see.

“Ah,” Aziraphale bit his lip at Crowley’s next thrust, scrambling his body and thoughts. “You as well.”

Despite what seemed to be a maddening effort on his part, Crowley mercifully kept their pace slow. The gradual sink of his cock in and out of Aziraphale gave him time to adjust until he reached a point where Crowley’s driving thrusts did not make him want to immediately collapse into a crescent shape. He was in limbo, caught adrift where every pump of Crowley’s hips brought either discomfort or something bordering on nice, and the sound of his body hitting Aziraphale’s coupled with the wet squelch of oil oddly enough fueled an ember Crowley’s begun to nurture.

It lit up his spine just as he curved into one of Crowley’s thrusts, turning him into a molten clench of pleasure beyond anything he’s known.

“Crowley,” he groaned, unable to stop himself from leaning further down onto his arms to recreate the exact, blissful angle. Behind him Crowley kept at it, fingertips caught into the fold of Aziraphale’s hips and thighs to hold him in that perfect position. He was panting, his flat stomach heaving against Aziraphale’s back as his thrusts picked up the pace.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped, squirming as Crowley’s cock jabbed into him pulsing pleasure up his body. He arched again and—

 _Goodness._ That definitely wasn’t bad. Not at all.

“Ah,” Crowley hissed, strong hands digging into Aziraphale’s pudgy flesh as he pressed deeper, harder. Each time Crowley slid right over that spot Aziraphale’s entire body turned to liquid and his spine went hot as it became harder to bite back his own moans which now matched Crowley’s in volume.

“I’m close. I’m really close.”

Aziraphale shivered, the desperation in Crowley’s voice sending a jolt of heat straight to his own dripping cock as Crowley’s next thrust jostled him, turned him inside out. Challenged his tenuous grip on the damp grass under his sweaty hands, the soft blankets that his sore knees skid over.

Close. Crowley was close. Terribly unsure what that means.

If Aziraphale hazard a guess, close was the main reason people do this. Engaged one another so messily. Intimately, he added, as Crowley moaned louder and moved with a conscious gentleness blunting the edge of his obvious need for Aziraphale. It was addicting, how Crowley sounded in his desperation, a direct line pumped right to Aziraphale’s heart ready to burst as Crowley’s thrusts went jagged as Aziraphale hesitantly rocked backwards to meet the demon’s hips.

“Aziraphale, fuck, _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley gasped and never has his name ever been said like it was worshipped, but there it fit so perfectly in Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale moaned in response, back tentatively arched to draw Crowley deeper, rewarding him with a hitch in Crowley’s thrusts and the heavy throb of him inside where no one else has been.

“Fuck. I’m so close I can’t—”

In a sense, Aziraphale agreed with Crowley.

As those sharp hips pressed to his arse in a rhythm he let his body be moved by, as careful, oil slicked hands smoothed down Aziraphale’s sides, touched around to his chest, his belly, he felt quite close to Crowley. That closeness was not only physical, instead an even deeper than skin and bone and marrow sort of way that hurt to examine as cracked wide open, impossibly vulnerable he now was. Nothing has gone the way he expected, true, but when has anything since Crowley slithered into his life? As exposed, uncomfortable, and at times difficult this entire situation has been, not once has Crowley betrayed his trust. All this he has never experienced with anyone else before, he never wanted to with anyone else ever again.

Crowley was it for him.

“Yes - oh - yes my dear,” he rushed out as Crowley’s thrusts turned into short, grinding motions that made legs tremble, his heart ache. Closer, ever closer. “Yes, me too.”

“Angel, angel I—” Crowley jammed himself inside with a low groan that seemed to make the vigil of trees around them shiver as hot, wet pulses spilled deep into Aziraphale’s trembling body.

Oh. _Oh._

Well then.

Aziraphale nearly bit through his lip to smother a moan at the bursts of heat pooling somewhere behind his sensitive tailbone. The powerful shudder of Crowley as he, he did _that_ inside was impossible not to be aroused by given how his cock pulsed in desperate sympathy. The sensation went on for what felt like several minutes with only their laboured breathing to fill the silence. Every other shakily drawn breath encouraged another pulse of release until one short thrust sent the last dribble into the cored out, aching space Aziraphale made just for Crowley. Crowley sighed out a long breath that soothed Aziraphale, in a strange way, then curved his long body forward. To his surprise the demon’s damp forehead came to rest against the back of his neck. Aziraphale dropped his head forward, and a press of what could only be Crowley’s lips responded to the flushed skin he exposed.

A loud part of himself, rattling through his head, demanded he feel ashamed. A softer, almost silent voice deep inside, told him to feel cherished.

He closed his eyes, unsure of which one to choose.

“Let me take care of you,” Crowley whispered, something raw in the spoken words, and he ever so carefully pulled himself away. Despite his eagerness to be clean and less sticky, the wet rush of Crowley’s spend leaking out spurred a wounded, oversensitive noise from Aziraphale and he buckled onto his elbows.

“Ah,” he shuddered, eyes squeezing shut. Hands came to Aziraphale once more, petting along his body until they reached his hips, then touched between his damp thighs and he cut off a wrecked moan at how he throbbed under Crowley’s fingers, embarrassed by the pathetic sound.

“You didn’t?” Aziraphale twisted to see over his shoulder at the pained tone of Crowley’s voice. A high flush marred Crowley’s handsome features as though a great fever struck him, long hair plastered to his dripping forehead.

Nothing has ever looked so beautiful.

“No I, well it was.” Aziraphale struggled to speak for a variety of reasons outside of the vision before him, such as Crowley’s fingers brushing along him and he nearly wept. He honestly had no idea what to add at the end of Crowley’s cut off sentence, what those engaged in this are expected to do, to want. Must be a failing on his end, somehow, if there was something he should have done.

“I thought you said you were close,” Crowley withdrew his hand from Aziraphale to grip a damp shoulder, then touched his cheek urging him to turn around.

“That is, I—”

“Roll over.” Without waiting for a response, Crowley coaxed Aziraphale onto his back and yanked his white robes high up to his chest, the rush of cool, fresh air enough to make Aziraphale gasp in surprise.

Crowley gripped underneath Aziraphale’s knees and spread them wide and before Aziraphale might protest he swallowed him down. Howling into the garden air, Aziraphale’s back arched as pleasure pooled between his thighs with each pull of Crowley’s lips. His oversensitive tip rubbed against the roof of Crowley’s warm mouth, that tongue winding along the underside as his hips bucked upwards, unable to contain himself at the onslaught. It felt so much better than anything he’s experienced before, edged on overwhelming given how long his body has thrummed from Crowley’s touches, from Crowley inside him.

“Oh!” Aziraphale shuddered as his legs were hitched wider open by Crowley’s firm hold with the slightest hint of claws, a pinprick bite that made him all too aware of their differences in a way he’s never considered.

“You, you,” Aziraphale swallowed thickly as he watched Crowley’s mouth, lips wrapped wetly as they pulled and sucked along his small, painfully hard cock in precise, expert motions. Further down he saw the demon was aroused again, thick and dripping a long clear strand of fluid onto the grass, his bare knees stained with crushed fruit.

“You need it again, don’t you? That oh, _oh_ rotation you mentioned.”

Crowley hummed in protest around his mouthful, tongue working a series of wet strokes until he pulled away at Aziraphale’s choked off moan.

“No, it’s just you that—” Heat slithered through his body at the sight of Crowley between his parted thighs, golden eyes blown wide with their undivided focus right on Aziraphale.

“Have me,” Aziraphale breathed, desperate to ensure Crowley looked nowhere but him.

“Have me again.”

In a frantic fumble of limbs and hastily lifted robes, Crowley surged forward and with a demonic snarl he slid back inside of Aziraphale, hips jammed to the hilt against Aziraphale and then even closer. Perfection, Aziraphale thought as his head fell back towards the grass only to meet the cradle of Crowley’s steady hand.

Truly the first of its kind on Earth, there is no possible way anyone else has ever felt like this.

“Yes,” Aziraphale moaned into the perfumed air as his legs trembled astride Crowley’s hips. “Yes, Crowley.”

Crowley’s sharp mouth cleaved lines along Aziraphale’s neck, up to his ear as he hissed and moaned all sorts of darkly warm compliments. How wet and soft Aziraphale felt, how perfect he looked, how he’s longed for this for ages. On and on Crowley spoke, praises spilling past his lips, each one as good as Crowley’s thrusts if not better. Aziraphale could do little more than lay there spread open as Crowley lavished him to the point he struggled to hold back his cries of pleasure, the pinprick of tears in his eyes. Little whines tore from his throat with each reverent touch, the precise rolling of Crowley’s hips and his cock throbbing where Aziraphale needed him most.

“Angel,” Crowley groaned, hand setting Aziraphale’s head down gently to sink long fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, letting the short white-blond strands catch. Under the arch of his back Crowley’s other arm wound tight, pulling him up as if the demon could not get enough of Aziraphale, pliant, impossibly sensitive in his strong arms.

It was bliss to be held by Crowley so, touched like this, until he made the ultimate mistake of opening his eyes and—

Molten gold stared down at Aziraphale, gleamed with his own heart so clearly reflected at him, with what surely only his foolish self could envision.

And yet, and, and _yet._

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, unable to restrain the coil of pressure and heat from snapping, catching fire down his trembling body. Arching to Crowley’s broad chest a tide of pleasure, unfamiliar and overpowering, crashed over him and left him breathless as he came in short, wet spurts between them. Tears streamed down his face, his heart broke only to be mended by Crowley’s voice.

“Aziraphale.” Thin lips panted out what sounded like a name turned mantra as Crowley sunk down, and kissed Aziraphale.

Unrestrained passion bloomed between them at the slide of their mouths together, his eyes fluttered shut. Better than even the Babylonian sunlight warm on Aziraphale’s face, over the exposed parts of his hitched up, wrapped around legs which cradled Crowley close, so close.

Heavens. How has he lived all his life without ever knowing Crowley’s lips on his?

Moaning into the kiss and entirely unabashed, Aziraphale reached up to pull Crowley further atop him. Nothing compared, not the sweetest fruit nor the most expensive wine, at all to Crowley. 

Crowley remained pressed against Aziraphale, even as his hips began to stutter, as the sweat soaked robes between them clung and pulled at their flushed skin. Even when it reached uncomfortable Aziraphale could not bear to be separated for an instant, which had led to them being here like this in the first place. The delicious rub of Crowley’s firm stomach against his sensitive, dripping cock, Crowley’s arms encircling, it was all he cared to know until at last Crowley shook, staying deep inside, and a slick rush of warmth filled Aziraphale once more.

Eyes tightly shut, Aziraphale gasped Crowley’s name into that fang-sharp mouth, into the garden’s cedar perfumed air. Another unstoppable surge of pleasure rolled through Aziraphale as he writhed underneath Crowley who only held him tighter. Kissed him deeper.

In the gradual drip of time Crowley’s hips eventually, reluctantly slowed as he coaxed the last lingering shivers of pleasure from Aziraphale’s twitching limbs and heaving chest. Thin, wet lips pulled away only enough to whisper Aziraphale’s name, then pressed down into another kiss, this time gentler, as though Crowley had nowhere else to be. Long arms held Aziraphale close, and in turn his spread thighs cradled Crowley’s languid form. With a deep sigh of contentment his eyelashes fluttered as he basked in the feel of Crowley on top of him, inside him, while they lay entwined in this garden, uncaring of the world that exists beyond.

Something has changed, a careful longing now perched itself within Aziraphale, just behind his ribs. He can’t come back from this, what he has given Crowley, what Crowley has given him. Like Adam and Eve with the Serpent's offered apple, the way their eyes all opened to a knowledge unable to be returned to its maker.

What happens now? Does he, can he put his own hands in Crowley’s hair while they kiss?

Would a demon like that, he wondered, as a trembling hand touched the long strands. Do they now lay here entwined for the rest of the day, until they can finally watch the stars together? He hoped so, a tentative smile blooming, and felt Crowley’s mouth curve against his own.

Crowley raised away enough to gently slip from Aziraphale’s tender body, whispering comfort to the wounded cry Aziraphale gave. A nudge and his forehead settled atop Aziraphale’s, his long red hair fell around them to create a curtain where only they remained, a place of their own making. As if hours passed by in minutes they stayed like that, staring at one another until a wind fluttered the strands away to let the sunlight filter back in, leaving them exposed in the light of day.

Exposed everything Aziraphale was, and was not. With agonising force the reason this all happened returned to him, and his heart seized within his chest.

“Aziraphale. That was, you were,” Crowley sighed, a hand carded through the sweat soaked hair at Aziraphale’s temple, followed by a kiss he failed to muster the will to return.

He was, what. Just about what Crowley expected, what the demon needed to satiate this year’s requirement until the next time? Just a number to keep Crowley a little longer at his side.

Aziraphale, another one in the endless years ahead whereas Crowley was, he, he was.

The longing in his chest turned sharp now as clarity honed in on the blurry vision of what Crowley was to him and before it revealed everything he could not bear, Aziraphale turned away. And with great reluctance and his heart in his throat, Aziraphale touched a hand to Crowley’s chest, and pushed.

“Of course, yes,” Aziraphale tugs his robes down with a shaky hand to cover the slick drip of Crowley out of his aching, cold body and tried for one last lie before his resolve good and truly left.

“Quite like every other time, is it not?”

Time seemed to stop within the sanctuary of the garden, as though the enfolded trees around them lost the wind amongst their branches. His own words manifested a yawning cavity where his pitifully fragile heart’s longing beat out a similarly shaped bruise against the inside of his chest as he tried to steady his breathing.

Something ragged sounding came from Crowley’s direction, and he looked back to see Crowley’s hands drop into his lap, golden eyes wide and distant.

“Yeah. Yeah, pretty much,” Crowley murmured as though already far from reach, the affirmation of Aziraphale’s darkest fears lancing straight through his core.

_Wait I take it back, I do not want it to be like what you have known._

With a sigh Crowley shook his unkempt hair, letting it fall in tangled waves down his broad, drooped shoulders. How beautiful this hereditary enemy was, Aziraphale mourned, gripping the soaked edges of stained white robes as he stared at the wreckage of his own making. Despite all he gave, he’s lost Crowley anyways.

“Crowley w—” _If I tell you the truth, might it mean something to you?_

“Wasn’t too bad. Thanks for.” Crowley swayed when he stood, dark robes falling in place to conceal the sticky gleam of their activities. His jaw trembled, then clenched. He did not look down at Aziraphale, or anywhere in his direction.

“Thanks for that, angel.”

Aziraphale bit his lip until teeth cut through, unable to do more than watch Crowley walk away, the long, dark line of his body beautiful even now.

After the curtain of tamarisk branches fell over the path Crowley disappeared onto, Aziraphale rolled onto his side amidst mussed blankets soaked with oil, streaked with their release. Just out of reach was the tipped over basket with its fruit crushed, smeared into the grass from the passionate entwine of their bodies. Down below, the sound of the Babylonian people as they cheered and laughed and danced together rushed into his ears.

All he had hoped to experience with Crowley, that this was supposed to result in.

“Please,” Aziraphale begged someone, anyone on a quiet sob hitched into the air of this abandoned garden.

With trembling hands he tugged one of the blankets over himself and blinked away the tears that fell. The longest day’s last bit of sunlight dripped over the horizon, and as Aziraphale closed his eyes to the bright, distant pinpoints of starlight peeking through the canopy of trees, he tried one last time to believe his lie got him exactly what he wanted.

_Let this have been enough for me._

**Author's Note:**

> I am considering a sequel, if it helps.


End file.
